


Telling the Truth

by Boton



Series: Deeper [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: The Abominable Bride, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boton/pseuds/Boton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“High the whole time, were you? I mean, I think I get it, Sherlock. Good-byes aren’t my favorite thing either, but you needed opiates for that? And then the cocaine. Moriarty doesn’t need to even be alive for him to attempt to kill you if you’re going to help him out like that.”</p>
<p>John looked like he needed a breath before continuing, but Sherlock cut him off.</p>
<p>“John. There’s something you need to know,” he began.</p>
<p>When Sherlock Holmes got on that plane, John Watson didn't know he was flying to his death.  He had to find out the truth sooner or later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling the Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jolie_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolie_Black/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and his universe are the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock is the creation of the BBC and its partners, and of co-creators Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. This work is for my pleasure and that of my readers; I am not profiting from the intellectual property of those creators listed above.
> 
> In a brief conversation, Jolie_Black challenged me to write the story of how John found out about Sherlock's suicide mission, given that he is still (willfully?) in the dark on the tarmac. This may or may not fit with her head canon, but it's my attempt at one way that John may have found out the awful truth.
> 
> This story follows immediately along with the other stories in the "Deeper" series and comes immediately after the events in "Not Your Fault." It also references my own Reichenbach theory as described in "Lazarus."
> 
> (Bonus points: Find the ACD and Granada references.)

Some hours later, Sherlock stumbled out of his bedroom, barefoot, dressing gown askew on his shoulders and trailing its belt behind him. He crossed to where John was sitting in his chair and gingerly lowered himself into his own, looking for all the world like his head would break in two if he moved it too quickly.

“He lives,” John said, setting off a flurry of Sherlock’s hands that seemed made of random movements and yet managed to convey the concept of keeping the noise down.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. John caught one of Sherlock’s hands and quickly took a pulse, then reached up to examine his pupils as they reacted to the light of the sitting room. Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and began to speak.

“High the whole time, were you? I mean, I think I get it, Sherlock. Good-byes aren’t my favorite thing either, but you needed opiates for that? And then the cocaine. Moriarty doesn’t need to even be alive for him to attempt to kill you if you’re going to help him out like that.”

John looked like he needed a breath before continuing, but Sherlock cut him off.

“John. There’s something you need to know,” he began, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. Mary came in from the kitchen balancing three mugs of tea, which she passed out. Then, she reached for the straight-backed chair, pulling it into the circle around the fire in unconscious imitation of the night that John learned of her deception in Leinster Gardens. Only this time, Mary angled her chair just slightly toward John, putting her barely-perceptibly on Sherlock’s side of the grouping. She fixed her eyes on John, only occasionally looking over at Sherlock uncharacteristically struggling for words.

“I’m listening,” John prompted.

“When I . . . went away to fight Moriarty’s network, I was not completely forthcoming with you about the purpose of my deception. I couldn’t be; it was critical for your safety as well as my own that you believe, at least initially, that I had committed suicide.”

“So you’ve said,” John said in a clipped voice. 

Sherlock looked at his hands and then cast red-rimmed eyes back up at John’s face, a position from which he refused to move. “In that circumstance, I allowed you to grieve a death that had not occurred. I had hoped that you would eventually come to understand that my suicide, particularly in front of you, would be impossible, and therefore something improbable was likely to be the truth. What I didn’t count on . . . what I never consider . . . was how deeply you would be affected by the emotion of the event.”

John nodded imperceptibly. Sherlock waited for comment and, seeing none forthcoming, continued.

“On Christmas Day, Mycroft offered me a contract to work with MI6. They wanted me to return to Eastern Europe; apparently my success in dismantling terror cells gave them cause to believe I could replicate the feat. Mycroft urged me to turn the job down, as it would certainly result in my death.”

“OK, that seems like a good call,” John said, still obviously confused.

Sherlock took a long drink of his tea, then placed it on the hearth near his feet. “John, I murdered Charles Augustus Magnussen in cold blood on his terrace in front of a couple of dozen British government security agents. I don’t exactly regret it, but the only possible result of my actions was life in prison. And, given my own personality and my effect on others, I was likely to spend the majority of that in solitary confinement.”

John shuddered slightly. He knew all of this; had witnessed it at close hand, in fact, but hearing Sherlock explain it in the sitting room of 221B was surreal.

“So, Mycroft called in some favors; quite a few, I would imagine,” Sherlock continued. “In exchange for no punishment coming to you for your role in providing the murder weapon and in lieu of my continued imprisonment, I could accept a position as an MI6 agent and be exiled to Eastern Europe.”

With that, Sherlock sat back, body still tense, clearly waiting for John’s reaction.

“Yeah, you were exiled, I know,” John said. “Remember, I was on the tarmac.”

“I was exiled, John,” Sherlock began again, “with no hope of returning to the United Kingdom.”

“Yeah, that’s exile,” John replied, still looking confused. “I mean, I knew you’d never get to come home and you’d never really get to be Sherlock Holmes again, but I figured once things had settled, Mary and I could come up with some reason we needed a holiday in Greece or Mumbai or, hell, Hong Kong. Mycroft wouldn’t leave you to rot in Serbia again.” 

“John, I was an agent of MI6,” he said, seemingly unable to go further. Sherlock glanced helplessly at Mary. 

Mary shifted in her seat, looking more directly at John. “The thing about intelligence agents is that they are a lot more expendable than one would think from watching telly,” she said. Suddenly, she had John’s full attention.

“It’s not uncommon for a government intelligence operation to send an agent into deadly danger, knowing the agent won’t return. When they lose communication with the agent, they will presume him dead and send another in his place to continue the mission,” she said, looking pointedly at John. “It isn’t something that any one government official, no matter how powerful, can override. The success of the mission is more important than any one man or woman.”

John stared at Mary for a long moment, then looked back at Sherlock.

“Jesus. Sherlock, are you telling me you were being sent to your death?”

Sherlock nodded mutely.

“And Mycroft knew this, and you knew it, and you were all OK with it?”

“I wasn’t ‘OK’ with it, John,” Sherlock said, his voice becoming heated for the first time. “Mycroft did the only thing he could, which was give me a chance to die on my feet rather than rot slowly in a cell. And I would know that you and Mary both were safe.”

John rotated to Mary as if hearing her name reminded him of her presence. “You knew. How long did you know?”

Mary shook her head. “I didn’t know until we were on the tarmac. I recognize the send-off for a suicide mission when I see one,” she said quietly.

“So you let us prattle on about baby names and the East Wind and everything knowing you were flying to your death,” John said, rounding back to Sherlock. “Why didn’t you tell me then.”

“Mycroft would have known of my death when it occurred, and he would have told you,” Sherlock said quietly. John spread his hands, whether in supplication or in question it was hard to determine.

“John, once before, I let you grieve my death when it had not yet occurred. I could not do that again. This time, I could not let you grieve a moment before there was reason,” Sherlock said. He rose from his chair, rubbing the back of his neck to relieve the pain in his head. John rose as well.

“So, you’re safe here? Should you even be on British soil?” John whispered.

Sherlock gave a slight smile. “The one good thing I can say about Moriarty is that his timely reappearance is adequate reason for my return. Mycroft would not have called me back if this were not sufficient reason to reassign me as an agent to this domestic mission.”

With that, John stepped across the space dividing them and clapped his hands to Sherlock’s biceps, rubbing slightly, veering in as if to hug him but stopping at the last moment as if uncertain how one celebrates the return of one’s best friend from the brink of death. He looked into Sherlock’s tired eyes and noted the relieved look there and cleared his throat. 

“I think you should get some more rest. You’ve been, um, through a lot, and anything else we need to discuss . . .,” John said uncertainly.

“Will wait,” Sherlock finished. And with a brief smile of thanks to Mary, Sherlock turned and headed back to his bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm kind of taken with the idea that Mary, as a former CIA agent, would have been able to see the tarmac situation through a slightly different lens than John did. 
> 
> Answers to the bonus question:
> 
> Sherlock references two ACD quotes:  
> "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"  
> “I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.”
> 
> John references the scene from the Granada version of "The Empty House" when he claps Holmes by the biceps and doesn't quite manage to hug him.


End file.
